You Don't Own Me: The Return of Jean Tate, Jnr
by ThePennyTealeaf
Summary: Getting Home Farm back was only the beginning for Joe Tate. Everything was set to be perfect. Friends, well, they were easily bought...but family? Jean Tate, his fifteen year old cousin, is about to make a shocking return to Home Farm, bringing chaos in her wake... (slightly Non-Canon) (ON HIATUS)


_Now that Joe Tate has reclaimed the family seat in Emmerdale, I thought it would be interesting to look at what would happen if his young cousin Jean returned to the village, without her mother._

 _I do not own Emmerdale, nor any of the characters, rights of which belong to ITV and its affiliates. This is simply my interpretation of what would happen if Jean Tate was reintroduced to the soap._

 _Parts of this were written by the wonderful RicePips, who deserves all credit for the characters of Laura Foster and her family._

 _Thank you for reading!_

 _ThePennyTealeaf_

 **"Break it to Me Gently: The Return of Jean Tate"**

"That's alright, you can leave me here." A pair of dark eyes flashed into the rear view mirror at the front of the car. The driver stopped the car and held out his hand.

"Contactless, okay?" The eyes were revealed to belong to a pretty fifteen year old girl. She stood in the cramped confines of the cab, brushing down her posh school uniform with the embroidered 'C' on her blazer, perfectly turned out. Her hair was sleek and dark, her makeup pure Tilbury and yet there was an exoticness about her.

"One sec, please."

Her accent was a strange mix of drawling New Zealand and English, creating a sound of her very own. The driver motioned to the card reader at the back of his seat.

"Thanks." The girl swiped her card across the reader and pushed open the door. Hardly the return she had wanted, but there were things that needed sorting.

She took a moment to inhale the country air. It was stale, fresh and natural and, the girl noted, damp. The whole flight had seen nothing but grey skies. The clouds had obscured most of the view and as far as the girl was concerned, landing on grey tarmac in a grey world was like landing on another planet. She was used to beautiful sunshine, at least she had been until six months before.

She tore her mind away from the memory and grabbed her Kate Spade bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

"You got everything, love?" the driver asked, starting the ignition.

"Yes. Thanks!"

The girl ignored the friendly wave of the driver as she set off toward the hill, which was heavy with thick tracks of mud. Perhaps Anglomania pumps weren't the best thing to wear, she reasoned as the heels dug into the depths. But then again, who had ever been able to tell Jean Tate what to do?

"If this is the country, if this was your country, Mum," she began bitterly, with a cursory glance upward. "thanks for the warning."

She trudged her way up the lane, keeping her eyes fixed ahead on the gates that led to, well, what to call it? Home? It might have been Home Farm by name, but that was its only claim to be anything like home.

She leaned up to the security gate and a camera trained around on her.

"What are you looking at?" She demanded, giving the gate an angry shove.

"Talking to yerself, first sign of madness." A voice muttered behind her. Jean whirled around. A balding man was standing just a few steps behind her, with a Mercedes.

"Is it?" Snapped Jean, haughtily, "I'll remember that."

"Shouldn't you be at school?" The man asked. He was, there was no other word-stout and tall, with a long face and pouched eyes.

"Shouldn't you be minding your own business?" Jean turned back to the gate, "how am I supposed to get in?"

"That's the whole point, they don't want just anyone going in there. Trust me." Jimmy warned her.

"They'll want to see me." Jean replied smoothly, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

"You'll want the side entrance." The man advised. "Only Mr Tate and his...right hand butler through the front."

"I'm a Tate." Jean clarified, relishing the man's reaction.

"Another one?"

"Last time I looked, yes. So," she adjusted her bag on her back, "are you going to show me in or do I have to climb on your car? Only I'd so hate to ruin the paintwork in these." She gestured at her muddy yet still pointy heels.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Come on," he climbed into the driver's seat, "get in, I'll drive you round."

"How do I know you're not going to abduct me?" Jean raised her eyebrows accusingly.

"Oh, come on, you've already shown what you'd do to my car, I don't think I'd risk it."

"Who are you anyway? I like to put a name to a face." Jean quipped, opening the passenger door.

"Jimmy King." With that, he started the car which screeched and sped off into the forked lane.

True to his word, Jimmy delivered Jean to the back gate of the house. Jean looked up at it with a sniff. It didn't look anything like what her mother had described to her. Then again, her memory hadn't managed to stretch to her act of blowing the house up either.

"Is this it?" She asked dully.

"Yep, that's Home Farm. I should know, we had to rebuild it after what some woman did after we bought it."

Jean smirked to herself.

"Thanks for the ride." She slammed the door.

"You take care now, don't get swept up by them." Jimmy warned, opening the window.

Jean scoffed at him.

"Oh, I won't. I've got something else in mind."

"Good luck."

Jean waited until the car had disappeared out of sight before approaching the side door. Checking that the area was clear, she reached inside her pocket and picked out a bobby pin, inserting it into the lock.

"Come on!" She urged, wriggling the pin, "Come. On!"

She pushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.

"Oh for God's sake!"

With a tug to the left, the door opened and Jean was met with a pair of shiny black brogues. Her eyes raised to full height and she found herself staring into the face of Graham Foster.

"Hello, Jean." He greeted her in his low, modulated voice.

"Wotcher, Butler-Face." Jean retorted childishly.

"I see your manners haven't improved." Graham noted as Jean passed him.

"Have my cousin's?" Jean asked sweetly, displaying the trademark Tate smirk in all its glory.

"Why are you here?" Graham asked.

"Why do you think?" Jean returned, barging past Graham and slamming her bag on the kitchen worktop, "wow." She looked around, "Impressive. I suppose he thinks he's Lord of the Manor here?"

"Would you like a drink?" Graham opened the American style fridge and gestured inside.

"Are you offering me an alcoholic beverage?" Jean teased, sweeping to the fridge with a regal air, "naughty Graham. I doubt my cuz will approve. Aren't you supposed to ask his permission before you breathe?"

"Help yourself." Graham told her gruffly, ignoring the taunt. It was incredible how two cousins could be so much like siblings, he thought. They despised each other and each had their own reason to.

"Hmm...San Pellegrino? Posho." Jean selected a can and cracked it open with finesse. The chill of the freezer had risen to her cheeks, tinging them pink. She now looked exactly like her mother at the same age. Smart mouth and smart clothes. Everyone had known poor, tragic Zoe.

She took a long drag of the liquid and propped it neatly on the sideboard, before leaning up against it and perching on the edge, swinging her legs.

"So, Graham. How're things? Or shall I just call you Mr Foster, like my teacher?" She grinned wickedly.

"Graham will do." Replied her cousin's right hand man curtly.

"Okay, Graham. Fill me in on the gossip of the quaint folk of Emmy-dale." She rolled her 'r's in a plummy manner.

"I have things to do." Graham told her, "the games room is downstairs, the TV is in the lounge and I suppose you can be trusted not to blow up the popcorn machine."

"Was that a dig at my Mum?" Jean's eyes turned fiery in an instant.

"No. I know better than that." Graham prepared to leave, "Sorry."

"Don't worry. I know you didn't mean it. At least, I HOPE you didn't. Because I could make things difficult for you." The fiery eyes danced with danger.

"As I said, I know better." Graham picked up his umbrella.

Jean shrugged and began to whistle a familiar Disney tune, 'Whistle While You Work'.

"Very droll."


End file.
